My family used to pray together every evening before going to bed.

The six of us would gather in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. We’d kneel around the bed, 3 on each side of the bed, and begin with the prayers: Our Father; Hail Mary; and Glory be to the Father. We ended with the Serenity Prayer.

Most of the time, we went willingly and behaved. We understood that prayer was not a joke. Despite this, we couldn’t avoid being kids. For some stupid reason, one of us would crack a smile and begin giggling. The laughter was contagious and soon we couldn’t stop, even if we shut our eyes. Dad and Mom didn’t like that.

They also didn’t like when we complained about praying.

“I have homework to do!”

“I want to see the end of this show!”

“I’m about the beat this level!”

“I’m on the phone!”

Mom would sigh and roll her eyes, “It’s only ten minutes. That’s all we ask.”

Dad had a different way of dealing with us, “Your Grandpa used to make us pray too. We had to do the Rosary. And it wasn’t just the cinco misterios, he added the Litany of Saints…”

He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “And we had to kneel too!”

Wow.

I was familiar with the Litany of Saints. I’d mumbled “ruega por nosotros” at least a dozen times during funeral wakes and Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) festivities. Saying a complete Rosario took 20-30 minutes, depending on how fast we mumbled the Hail Marys and Litany of Saints.

We stopped complaining after that.

Feliz Día de la Virgen Guadalupe

A few years ago, Isa held a small pumpkin carving party. I didn’t mind her guests, as many were my friends too, but I wasn’t in to it. I arrived a few hours late sans pumpkin. I sat on the couch and watched as Gabby attempted to carve the Dodgers LA logo on her pumpkin. She gave up soon after. Isa had more success with her Jack Skellington pumpkin. The others spread out with newspaper and knives on the floor and tried to keep pumpkin guts and seeds off the wood floor.

That was the first — and only — time I’ve ever had the opportunity to partake in the Halloween tradition. Yes, that’s right. I’ve never carved a pumpkin or made a jack-o-lantern. I’m pretty sure the same goes for everyone in my immediate family.

I’ve come up with three reasons why we never carved pumpkins:

First, we liked pie more than we liked knives. I suppose at one point I was attracted to the idea of making a jack-o-lantern. But then mom started making delicious pies. There was no contest. Pumpkin pie >>> jack-o-lantern (that will begin rotting a day after Halloween).

Second, I doubt mom had the time to supervise four kids wielding pumpkin carving knives. She knew better. We were accident prone and sharp objects, no matter how kid-safe, meant about a 50% chance of making an ER trip. Plus, mom was busy sewing our Halloween costumes.

Third, we’re Mexicans. We weren’t poor, but my parents came from poor families. As a rule, we didn’t waste food. Rotten fruit? Cut off the rotten part, it’s still good enough to eat. If we’d eat questionable fruit, then why would we waste a perfectly good pumpkin? It didn’t make sense.

You see all this family and community energy, time, money, resources mobilized around the young girl for this party. It should not be about just one night, but about the girl and what happens afterward in her life.
— Bisli in Once Upon a Quinceañera: Coming of Age in the USA by Julia Alvarez

When I think about my quinceañera now, I don’t think too much about the party or the Mass. Sure those things were nice, but without seeing the video or flipping through a photo album, I forget a lot of the details and how I felt. Naturally, the more vivid memories come from all the time preparing for the big day with the help of lots of family and friends (a do-it-yourself quinceañera, if you will).

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